


New Holidays

by Kemmasandi



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 17:53:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18554812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kemmasandi/pseuds/Kemmasandi
Summary: In which Jazz teases Prowl and maybe has ulterior motives for doing so.





	New Holidays

**Author's Note:**

> More old fic, written for an exchange a few years back. I don't remember who for.

...

NEW HOLIDAYS

...

New Year’s Day on Mount St. Hilary was quieter than most, this being because everyone not rostered on duty the next morning, Cybertronian and human alike, had drunk themselves into a stupor the previous night. Thirty-three years after their awakening on this alien planet, it had become almost second nature to celebrate each holiday alongside their human friends.

Walking along the corridor to the rec room with a bounce in his step entirely at odds with the amount of moonshine high-grade he had imbibed last night, Jazz formulated a theory that this was at least partially due to the fact that there were so many of them. Compared to a year on Cybertron, the Terran orbital cycle was much shorter, each day over far quicker. This had been some trouble at first, Cybertronian circadian rhythms being comparatively slower, but thirty-some years had worked wonders.

Now it just seemed like you had one party, spent a few days drinking the leftovers, and hey, here came another one! Then you drank the leftovers from that one, and so on.

In any case, Jazz gave it ten years from galactic contact before the entire planet was one big party destination. (Hedonia, eat your heart out.)

It was approximately 7.45 AM, Pacific Standard Time. Outside the Ark, there was a blanket of snow and watery morning sunlight filtering down through clouds that had just dumped the aforementioned snow on the mountain overnight. The winter thus far had not been cold, and the snow was already beginning to melt.

Jazz knew this because the Ark’s onboard environmental monitors were reporting growing puddles down the back of the ship, where the initial crash and four million years of volcanic activity had damaged it beyond use. They’d never be able to seal off all the leaks, but Teletraan kept a digital eye on them, just in case one was ever to grow large enough to constitute a security risk.

Jazz had a mind to go investigate himself, later today. Technically, he had a day off –- Prowl was in charge of the bridge today –- but there were mecha on this planet that, as strange as it sounded, didn’t seem to like human parties that much, and their name started with ’D’ and ended with “cons”.

Optimus wouldn’t allow the New Year’s Eve celebrations if they put the Autobot Cause at risk. Therefore, the entire holiday period was a tightly-run operation. The command staff planned usual operations around the major celebrations, left a reasonable margin of error in the case of Decepticon-related emergencies, and made sure that everyone who didn’t get to drink on Christmas Day had the chance to make up for it on New Year’s Eve.

Jazz had sang and drank with the best of them last night, but he’d been getting drunk for longer than most of the Autobots had been alive. Old dogs already knew all the tricks, in his case.

And besides, a quiet morning was the best time to get a little spelunking in.

He poked his helm into the rec room, scanning the empty tables. There were a pair of humans in their purpose-built kitchenette at the far end of the room; Chip and one of his grad students, who lifted hands in greeting as they spotted Jazz.

“Seen Prowl this morning?” he asked.

Chip placed the tablet he was holding on his lap and gave the question some visible thought. “I woke at six this morning and saw him walking down Corridor 3-H not long after that. I’ve no idea where he was going, though. The medbay, perhaps?”

“Huh. Must be something important, at that time of morning.” Not that Prowl was not a morning person; more that he habitually spent most of the morning shift in the command center, doing paperwork. Prowl was a fastidious mind –- he seldom broke his routine, if he could at all help it.

“Thanks, man.” Jazz took his leave.

Corridor 3-H was across the Ark. It ran parallel to the main entrance, a couple of levels down from the bridge. Mostly, it was a place you went to on the way to somewhere else.

Six AM was a while ago, but it was the best clue he had. Ratchet’s domain it was.

First Aid met him at the door, which it seemed was more of a surprise for the Protectobot than it was for Jazz. His visor brightened, EM flickering and evening out.  “Good morning, Jazz. I have to guess that you’re here for something other than a hangover remedy.”

“Good guess,” Jazz chuckled, inviting himself in. “Seen Prowlie?”

There was an infinitesimal pause, as of a junior apprentice mouthing the word ‘Prowlie’ to himself. “I have, in fact. Come with me.”

“Oh?” Jazz followed as First Aid set off between the medical berths in the ward. “Has he been visiting?”

“Not just that,” said Aid. “He seems to be having fun.”

Jazz’ laugh must have preceded him all the way into Ratchet’s office. As he poked his helm in the door, both Ratchet and Prowl were already looking his way; Ratchet with an arch glower and Prowl with the world’s best poker face.

In fact, looking at the desk between them, the description was more accurate than not.

“Neglectin’ your apprentice to play poker, Ratch?” chirped Jazz, slinking into the dimly-lit office. “That’s a shame.”

“He’s hardly neglected,” grumbled the medic, laying his hand of purpose-made cards flat on the table. “Blades is in the private room regretting his life choices, particularly the ones that involve accepting mystery cocktails from either Sideswipe or Bluestreak. He is also apparently mildly allergic to ethanol.”

“The Twins branching out into renewable energies, are they?”

“Someone was reading about pink alchemy and got ideas. Come on,” he added, turning back to Prowl, “who wins this round?”

Prowl laid down his cards, perfectly aligned. “I do believe this is my victory.”

Ratchet inspected them upside down before conceding the point. “Well, I suppose I can’t win every time.”

“What’s the forfeit?” asked Jazz, genuinely curious. “Didn’t know either of you played.”

“Nothing,” said Prowl. “It passes the time.”

“I suggested taking turns writing the minutes of this afternoon’s command staff meeting, but apparently he’s fine with doing it all himself.” Ratchet waved a hand in Prowl’s general direction and got to his pedes. “Was there something you wanted, Jazz?”

Jazz shook his helm. “Was looking for Prowl, actually. I missed you in the command center.”

Prowl, gathering together the deck and reshuffling, placed it carefully in one neat stack by Ratchet’s in-tray. “I see.”

Of course he wasn’t going to repeat the question Ratchet had already asked. That would just be Inefficient.

Jazz grinned. “Skipping work, are we?”

That earned him a dirty look. Prowl knew very well his sense of humour these days, but that did not mean he understood it.

“Hardly. I finished my work early and came here to deliver some records Ratchet had asked for.”

“And then I convinced him to stay for a game,” added the CMO, from a cupboard full of tools in the back of the room. “It’s New Year’s today, after all.”

Prowl elaborated. “Most businesses and non-essential levels of government have shut down over the holidays. I have markedly less to do than usual, so I decided to accept Ratchet’s offer, and found it to be a pleasant pastime.”

Jazz’ grin widened. “I’ll have to join in someday.”

“Oh no, not yet,” said Ratchet, head still in the cupboard. “Give me time to harden him up first. It’d be a slaughter otherwise.”

Prowl raised a brow ridge. Jazz, who knew the length and breadth of the competitive streak the tactician kept well hidden, mentally steepled his fingers.

“It’ll be something to look forward to, then –- right, Prowlie?”

The poker face made a sudden reappearance. “Yes, very much so. But I do not think you came here just to challenge me to a game I learned how to play this very morning.”

“That is true.” Jazz dipped his helm, and it was business time again. “I wanna do some exploration in down the back of the ship again. I’ve got records from eighteen months ago that need updated, and it may as well happen today.”

“You’re bored,” observed Prowl, and really, it was amazing how he could read between the lines of everything Jazz said. It wasn’t as if they’d worked very closely together before the crash. Thirty-three years on Earth counted for a lot, apparently.

“Yeah, maybe,” he admitted, and flashed a quick smile. “Maybe I just wanna start the New Year with something fun.”

“Because crawling around in spaces barely wide enough for your frame is, of course, 'fun’.”

“You’re so droll, Prowlie.”

Prowl’s other eyebrow went up. Jazz’ smile became a grin.

On the other side of the office, Ratchet rose up with something like a giant pair of bolt-cutters in his hands. “I have to ask – why the nickname?”

Jazz shrugged. “Gotta keep him on his toes. Nothing else seems to work.”

“I see,” said Prowl. To Ratchet, he nodded, giving the slight upper-body cant and doorwing lift that was a Praxian semi-formal farewell; Jazz merely got a sideways tilt of the helm. “I believe I will take my leave now. Good day.”

He turned, doorwings raised, and strode out into the medbay. Jazz heard First Aid’s voice, something that might have been a cheerful greeting, and then the prolonged sound of Blades rethinking his life choices.

Ratchet sat down at his desk again, and crossed his arms. “You’re an idiot,” he told Jazz. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know.” Jazz peeked out the door. Prowl was nowhere to be seen. “It's a talent, I guess.”

...


End file.
